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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986475">mistletoe ain't all it's cracked up to be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk'>connorswhisk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Holidays, M/M, Mistletoe, Pre-Relationship, eye-rolling emoji they're so stupid, love them tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:41:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This holiday season, Bitty's devised a plan: stick mistletoe over every doorframe in the Haus.</p><p>This is fine. As long as Ransom makes sure not to walk into a room with Holster under any circumstances, it's fine.</p><p>Ugh. He hates this stupid plant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mistletoe ain't all it's cracked up to be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>just a cute little holiday-themed oneshot to fill the holsom-shaped hole in my heart</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ok, you lost me,” Holster says. “Why haven’t you done this before?”</p><p> </p><p>Bitty huffs, clearly none too happy about being interrupted. “I don’t know <em>why </em>you don’t want to hear about the new cookie recipe my Mama found, especially considering you’ll end up eating half of them, <em>Adam, </em>but fine. I didn’t put up mistletoe frog year because I wasn’t living in the Haus yet, and I didn’t put it up <em>last </em>year because I waited too long and the Stop ’N Shop ran out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, wait,” Ransom cuts in. “Murder Stop ’N Shop or Smelly Stop ’N Shop?”</p><p> </p><p>Bitty sighs and gives him a Look, but Ransom just shrugs. It’s an important question.</p><p> </p><p>“Murder Stop ’N Shop, who do you think I am? I don’t want my mistletoe stinkin’ like the LAX team’s locker room.”</p><p> </p><p>(“<em>Nice,</em>” Holster says, nodding sagely. Ransom elbows him.)</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Anyway,</em>” Bitty says. “I went ahead and got there early this month.” He lifts a sprig triumphantly. “And here we are. Pick me up.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster crouches, grabs Bitty around the middle, and holds him up to the front doorframe.</p><p> </p><p>(Ransom tries not to stare at the strip of skin showing as Holster’s sweatshirt rides up. It takes a lot of effort.)</p><p> </p><p>“That should do it,” Bitty says once he’s back on the ground. “Thanks, y’all. I’m gonna go get baking, now.”</p><p> </p><p>And he heads off to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“Got any plans?” Ransom asks.</p><p> </p><p>Holster shrugs. “Annie’s?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>They start for the door at the same time, and then Holster flings out an arm and Ransom stops.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he says, looking up at the cheerily green plant hanging narrowly close to directly above their heads. “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster steps through first, and after a beat, so does Ransom.</p><p> </p><p>Holster’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners underneath his glasses. “With the amount of time we spend walking through doorways together, it’s bound to happen eventually,” he jokes.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom snorts. “You wish,” he chirps back.</p><p> </p><p>What he doesn’t say is, <em>That’s what I’m afraid of.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s not like Ransom’s never kissed Holster before. They’re on a hockey team, they throw a lot of kegsters, large quantities of alcohol are consumed, it isn’t difficult to do the math. But those occasional drunken make-outs are just that: <em>drunken make-outs. </em>They don’t <em>mean</em> anything, not in the way Ransom wishes they could. They’re sloppy, and quick, and they taste like tub juice, and Holster seems to always end up spilling his beer on either himself, the floor, or Ransom, and they’re pointless, just a bit of fun, and…</p><p> </p><p>And from what Ransom can remember of them, <em>really fucking hot. </em>When your best friend is a 6’6 Adonis with killer abs and eyes bluer than the Pacific ocean, that’s kind of unavoidable. It’s also why Ransom’s so terrified of all this mistletoe.</p><p> </p><p>Kegster kisses don’t have to count, and they don’t. But under the mistletoe? A time-honored, over-done, clichéd holiday tradition? Odds are, if they get stuck under there, they won’t be drunk. And while Ransom knows that Holster will have no problem kissing him and then having a laugh about it, Ransom’s not sure how well his brain’s going to process the inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>He’s in love with Adam Birkholtz, and there’s really nothing to be done about it. Ransom can’t ever tell him because it’ll ruin their carefully cultivated bromance, their fucking <em>co-captaincy</em>, kick everything out of sync, throw a wrench into the coral reef and eff it up entirely. Holster isn’t going to return his feelings, and Ransom still can’t come to terms with that fact.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know if he’ll <em>ever </em>be able to do that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Yo, you want me to bring you back some latkes after break, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom scoffs. “Dude, is that even a <em>question? </em>Of course. You’re sure your dad won’t mind?” he tacks on as an afterthought.</p><p> </p><p>Holster rolls his eyes, panting a little with the effort of bench-pressing the weight across his chest. “Are you kidding me? My dad like, <em>gets off </em>on cooking for other people. We can’t take him to potlucks because he ends up bringing a whole buffet.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom laughs. “Nice. I’ll make sure to get my auntie to bake you some of her ginger snaps.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster sets the barbell back on the hooks and sits up, grinning widely, a drop of sweat trickling its way down from his temple. “Don’t tell Bitty, but Auntie Oluransi’s ginger snaps are probably better than his.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom says, “Careful he doesn’t hear you say that, or you’ll be banned from pie-eating for a month,” and then, “Spot me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Duh,” Holster says, and they trade places.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom’s just about to start lifting when Holster whispers, “<em>Dude, check it.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom pushes himself up on his elbows and glances over at where Holster’s looking. Nursey and Dex are standing in the weight room doorway, staring up at the mistletoe Bitty had stuck to the top the week before. Nursey’s eyebrows are raised and Dex’s face is starting to redden. Chowder’s standing by, looking unsure of what to do. Ransom knows they’ve got about ten seconds before the yelling starts.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean,” Holster says, shaking his head as Dex shouts out an, <em>Are you kidding me, Nursey?!?! </em>“You’d think they’d realize that they don’t actually <em>have </em>to kiss. It’s just mistletoe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Ransom says, lying back down to start lifting. “Just mistletoe.”</p><p> </p><p>And then he starts thinking that even <em>if </em>he and Holster ended up in that situation, Holster might not even <em>want</em> to kiss him. He might just walk away.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom isn’t sure which is the better alternative.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He ends up getting screwed with Jada Forrester, who usually sits near him when he’s studying in the library. Ransom’s not actually that into her - sure, she’s nice, and she’s pretty cute, and she does this thing when she’s concentrating super hard where she bites down on her lip a lot, but he’s never really considered asking her out. Holster must have gotten the sense that Ransom’s more into her than he really is.</p><p> </p><p>Jada’s wearing this red Christmas dress that looks real nice on her, and she’s got a string of tinsel in her hair, and sparkly gold eyeshadow, and glitter all over her face. Ransom feels a little underdressed in his knitted sweater with the ice skates and hockey pucks on it, but his date doesn’t seem to mind, so he tries not to worry about it too much.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>This is fun,</em>” Jada yells over the music, some bass-heavy remix of “Sleigh Ride” that’s making Ransom’s head buzz.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yeah,</em>” he shouts back. “<em>Do you want to get a drink?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Jada nods, grabs Ransom by the hand, and pulls him over to the kitchen where the alcohol is.</p><p> </p><p>“I never know what to get,” she says, staring at the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Ransom hums, not really paying attention. He’s just noticed Holster and Pauline Fishbein making out in the hallway. It isn’t a super heartening sight.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like Holster hasn’t had his fair share of girlfriends and hookups. It’s not like <em>Ransom </em>hasn’t had his, either. They’re open about it with each other, give each other dating advice and consolation after bad breakups, like any friends do. It’s normal. It’s casual. It’s <em>not a big deal.</em></p><p> </p><p>It’s just that this is the first year that Ransom has known how he feels about Holster. And now it seems like maybe it <em>was</em> all a big deal, after all.</p><p> </p><p>“You like him.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom nearly jumps out of his skin. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Jada hands him a snowflake-patterned solo cup of beer and takes a sip of her own. “Adam.” She nods towards the hall. “You’re into him, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom stares down into his drink. “Would you believe me if I said no?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really. It’s a little obvious,” Jada says, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom’s pulse quickens. “Oh,” he says, and takes a long drink of beer. God, this is awkward. “I hadn’t realized.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, anytime I saw you in the library, he was with you,” she continues. “And half the time you were leaning on his shoulder while you worked.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh - “ Ransom is pretty sure that half of said shoulder-leaning was automatic, that he did it without thinking because he knew that Holster would let him. The realization isn’t exactly helping his case.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ok,” Jada says, nodding. “I don’t mind. I’m guessing he doesn’t know, since he set us up.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Ransom swallows. “He doesn’t know. I don’t know how to tell him.” He looks up at Jada. “You’re not pissed off?”</p><p> </p><p>“No way, dude,” she says, eyes getting big and shaking her head. “I’m honestly just here for a good time. I’m not really looking for a hook-up or a relationship or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Ok.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes. “Man, lighten <em>up.</em> How likely is it that Adam’s gonna keep seeing this girl after this party?”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom shrugs. “It depends. Sometimes he goes out with them afterwards, sometimes not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok,” Jada says. “So there’s a pretty good chance he won’t. And, bro, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he returned the feelings.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re just saying that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not!” she exclaims. “Seriously. Even if he <em>isn’t </em>into you, he’s still your best friend. I don’t think he’ll freak out if you tell him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Ransom says, taking another, smaller sip. “Ok.”</p><p> </p><p>Jada drains the rest of her cup. “Whatever, forget I said anything if you want. Let’s keep dancing.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom finishes off his beer, too. “Yeah, let’s keep dancing.”</p><p> </p><p>They’re leaving the kitchen when Jada suddenly stops.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom frowns. “What’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Jada says, looking up. “Mistletoe. I didn’t even notice it when we came in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Ransom says. “Oh, yeah, our teammate put them up. I kind of forgot about them.” He looks at her. “Um. You don’t want to…?”</p><p> </p><p>Jada raises an eyebrow. “Shut up,” she says, gives him a quick peck on the cheek, and drags him back out to the living room.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom spends the rest of the night drinking and dancing with Jada. He doesn’t catch sight of Holster and Pauline Fishbein again, and he doesn’t think much about it until he goes up to the attic at three in the morning and finds them in Holster’s bunk, asleep.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t do anything, just turns out the light and stares into the dark for what feels like hours before finally drifting off.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ransom manages to be in the kitchen by two. Bitty’s already in there of course, way too chipper for the morning/afternoon after Winter Screw, or any Kegster, for that matter.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning, Ransom!”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom winces. “Bits. Loud.”</p><p> </p><p>Bitty rolls his eyes. “Oh, <em>whatever. </em>Not my fault you got drunk last night.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom’s about to fire something back when Bitty shoves a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of his coffee in his hands, effectively shutting him up.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” he says, and Bitty hums and goes back to whatever it is he’s doing at the counter.</p><p> </p><p>Ransom sits down and mindlessly scrolls through his Twitter feed, shoving his face with eggs and trying to wake his brain up. He doesn’t really have much to do today, but he absolutely <em>hates</em> being hungover, even a little bit, so the sooner he gets out of this stage of post-Kegster blues, the better.</p><p> </p><p>“Yo, are those eggs?”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom glances behind him. Holster’s alone. Pauline must have left.</p><p> </p><p>Good.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you go,” Bitty says, swooping in and giving Holster his own plate and mug. “And that’s the last of it, so if you want more, you can make it yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice.” Holster sits next to Ransom, knocks shoulders with him casually, and digs in.</p><p> </p><p>“Have fun last night?” Ransom asks.</p><p> </p><p>Holster shrugs, mouth full. He swallows. “Yeah, it was all right.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom looks back down at his phone. “Ok.”</p><p> </p><p>“How’d things work out with Jada?”</p><p> </p><p>“We just hung out,” Ransom says. “Nothing really happened.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster frowns. “Oh. Shit, did I fuck up this year?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Ransom says quickly. “It’s fine. I still had a nice time, we just…we didn’t end up doing anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster’s quiet for a second before he nods. “Yeah, ok. Sorry, bro, I thought you were into her.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Holster smiles. Ransom’s chest hurts.</p><p><br/>“Hey,” he starts to say, though he has no idea how he’s going to finish. “I - “</p><p> </p><p>He’s interrupted by Bitty blasting Beyoncé through the Bluetooth speaker, making them both wince. Nursey (who’s apparently been passed out on the couch this whole time) groans loudly, and Bitty calls, “<em>Sorry,</em> but it’s about <em>time</em> the rest of y’all got up!”</p><p> </p><p>“You think Jack would let him get away with that if he were still captain?” Holster mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude,” Ransom says. “I think Jack would let Bitty get away with <em>anything. </em>That man is <em>whipped.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Holster snorts and knocks his shoulder against Ransom’s again. Ransom grins.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What time is your flight?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s an hour later, and they’re sitting on Holster’s bunk watching random episodes of <em>30 Rock. </em>Ransom may not always get the hype, but he does enjoy watching it with Holster a lot, even if he’s not always paying attention. It’s been a pastime of their’s since at least sophomore year.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ugh.</em>” Holster groans. “It’s at nine.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom shrugs. “Being at the airport at night is kinda fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I guess. It’s just, y’know. <em>Kegster.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Ransom says, smirking. “This is why I’m leaving <em>tomorrow.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” Holster watches Liz Lemon cram a sandwich down her throat, and then he says, “I’d totally wolf my Teamster sub for you, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, I still don’t really understand what that means,” Ransom says. “But thanks. And I guess I’d do the same for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Holster grins and holds out his fist. “Fuck yeah, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom taps it with his own. “Fuck yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>And their hands don’t really stop touching even after they fist bump, but Ransom doesn’t freak out about it, he totally <em>doesn’t</em> freak out about it. Nope. Not at all.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like it’s never happened before.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>— — —</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“So. Latkes?” Ransom asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Chyeah,” Holster says. “Latkes. Ginger snaps?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ginger snaps,” Ransom agrees.</p><p> </p><p>They’re in the living room. Holster’s about to leave for the airport. Ransom had offered to go with him and see him off there, but Holster’d told him he didn’t want to put him through the holiday season blitz a day earlier than Ransom has to, which<em>, fair.</em></p><p> </p><p>The Haus is uncharacteristically quiet. Everyone else seems to be packing to go home, too.Ransom hasn’t even started yet, and the fact is grating at the back of his mind, but he hasn’t packed because he spent the whole day with Holster, so it’s justified.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Holster says, adjusting the straps of his backpack and stepping backwards onto the porch, roller bag in hand. “See you in the New Year, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. See you then.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom hugs him, long and tight and full, and when he leans back, Holster whistles and says, “Hey. Mistletoe.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom freezes. <em>No. No way. Absolutely not.</em></p><p> </p><p>He looks up, and that stupid green plant is smiling cheerily down at him, white berries glimmering, and Ransom silently and fiercely curses it, tradition, Bitty, the holiday season, and all plants in general <em>because why is this happening this is not supposed to happen.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he says, barely able to hear himself over the rush in his ears. “Yep. Haha.”</p><p> </p><p>God<em> damn </em>it, he’s spent all this time making <em>absolutely sure </em>not to walk through any doorways at the same time as Holster, always on the lookout for <em>any </em>mistletoe, Bitty’s or otherwise, and now, on the last day that it could <em>possibly </em>happen, he forgets.</p><p> </p><p>Of course.</p><p> </p><p>“Well.” Ransom clears his throat. “Well, we don’t have to - “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to?”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom stops. Blinks. Holster doesn’t look embarrassed, or upset, or - or <em>anything </em>really. He’s just sort of looking at Ransom, shrugging. “I mean, why not, right?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck. </em>Holster’s just <em>standing </em>here in his Falconers cap and his Samwell hoodie and that same stupid pair of sweatpants that he’s <em>always </em>wearing, and he’s about to leave for the airport to go home for two weeks, and Ransom is <em>not </em>going to kiss him, he <em>isn’t, </em>he <em>can’t </em>-</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Ransom says. “Why not.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Holster’s eyebrows knit together. “Hey, I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t want to. We don’t have to kiss.”</p><p> </p><p>“I…”</p><p> </p><p>Holster breaks eye contact with him. “It’s fine, bro. I mean, I was halfway joking anyway - “</p><p> </p><p>Ransom kisses him. It’s quick and messy and a little bit wet (gross), and it’s also really, <em>really </em>nice.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Holster says once Ransom leans back. “Ok then.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you next year,” Ransom says. “Next year.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Holster mutters, blinking. His cheeks are dusted a rosy pink color, and Ransom can’t be sure if it’s from the cold or what. “Yeah, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Ransom holds out a fist. Holster seems to shake himself awake. He grins and bumps it.</p><p> </p><p>“Have a good time, bro,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Have a good time,” Ransom repeats. He’s still not totally sure what just happened.</p><p> </p><p>“Say hi to your sisters for me!” Holster calls out as he’s getting into his car.</p><p> </p><p>“Say hi to yours!” Ransom calls back, and once Holster’s gone, he shuts the door, slides down the wall, and just sits.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know what’s going to happen now, but he does know that this is gonna be one <em>hell</em> of a New Year.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy holidays! :)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>follow me on <a href="https://connorswhisk.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/connorswhisk">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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